


Broad Shouldered Beast

by glam0urmuscles



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Episode: s13e10 Mac Finds His Pride, F/F, Gen, M/M, Mac's New Gang, Post Season 13, The Be Nice to Mac McDonald Challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-22 13:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16598882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glam0urmuscles/pseuds/glam0urmuscles
Summary: Armed with self-acceptance, new allies, and a newfound way of expressing himself, Mac sets out to forgive Dennis.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> He is also armed with those arms, but I didn’t think I should say it. Fair warning that this fic is mainly me processing Mac Finds His Pride and what I want for Mac now, and it’s only kinda a MacDennis fic. Honestly, this is Mac learning to forgive the whole gang and the gang learning to get over themselves and admit they like each other. Title is from Mumford & Sons “Broad Shouldered Beasts,” which is Extremely S13 MacDennis (but again could really apply to the whole gang). 
> 
> ("Wasn't it you who said I was not free? / Wasn't it you who said I needed peace? / And now it's you who's floored by fear of it all / And it's alright / Take it out on me / It's alright / Take it out on me.")

The lights come back up and there are too many sensations for Mac to process. The sound of applause should be gratifying, but mostly it’s just loud. His muscles ache. His wet jeans cling to him, and water sloshes inside his sodden boots, and that light is so, so bright. He feels raw and exposed, and maybe he understands Dennis more in this moment than he ever has before, even though Dennis would never let himself be vulnerable like this. 

Neither of the things he most wants to do ─ to stay curled in Kayla’s lap, or to jump up and run ─ are really an option, but a full minute ticks by and he’s still too overwhelmed to move. The way they’ve rehearsed it, he’s supposed to stand first and offer Kayla his hand before they bow, but he can’t make himself do it. 

“Mac?” Kayla asks quietly, but he doesn’t answer. She understands anyway, and gently removes his arms from around her waist as she gracefully slips out from under him. She offers him her hand, and he’s almost certain he can do this. He lets himself be pulled up. He bows. He steps back to let Kayla bow alone. They bow again together. 

And then he runs. 

He needs to be alone. Inside his head is just as noisy as the prison gymnasium he’s leaving behind without waiting for Kayla or Frank. Without grabbing his bag from backstage and putting on a dry shirt. Almost without submitting himself to the obligatory exit pat-down. 

Once he’s on the street in the warm June sunshine he can finally breathe, but he still can’t make his thoughts slow down. Sometimes he can juggle two thoughts happening at the same time, but usually that’s with one thought in the front and the other squashed in the back somewhere where it’s not as loud. Almost like a thought  _ under _ a thought. This is too many thoughts, and they all want to be at the front. He needs to get home so he can think them slowly, one at a time, until they’re done. 

He doesn’t walk far before Frank is pulling up alongside him in the Range Rover. “Get in ─ you can’t walk 20 miles after dancing your ass off like that.” 

Mac probably can, but he’ll get home sooner this way, and besides he’s still shirtless. 

His abandoned bag is on the front seat. He moves it to the floor and climbs in. They drive in silence for a bit while Mac focuses very hard on breathing and not thinking.

At a red light somewhere in Fishtown, Frank pats him on the knee and says, “You did good, kid.” Mac bites down hard on his tongue to stop the sound this unaccustomed kindness makes him want to emit. 

Frank doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the drive, and Mac is grateful. 

Mac is also grateful that the rest of the gang will still be at the parade or the bar. When he pushes open the unlocked door to his apartment, his racing thoughts are already calming at the prospect of a few beers, a long, hot shower, and an early night.

He doesn’t expect Dennis to be home. Dennis should be on the float with Dee and Charlie. Still, there he is on their couch, dressed like he couldn’t decide whether he was going to the parade or not. His shirt is one of his usual button-downs, striped, but in a subtle palette of rainbow pastels. His hair is perfectly coiffed and his makeup is tastefully done, but he’s wearing boxers and his eyes are bloodshot. He’s not doing or watching anything, just sitting there holding one of the many peaches Mac left scattered around the apartment. 

Mac shuts the door behind him and Dennis looks up. He sneers at Mac’s still-shirtless chest. “Back already? Couldn’t find a beefcake at the parade who wanted to bang?” 

Just like that, Mac’s sense of calm is gone again, but he’s really too exhausted to fight. From a dissociative funk to battle mode in two seconds flat; that’s rare form, even for Dennis. What was it that Kayla had told him last week? Something about June being really hard for a lot of people and maybe Dennis was one of them. He hasn’t had a great June himself, if he’s being honest. He can try to be nice. 

He shrugs and goes to sit next to Dennis on the couch. “Didn’t go to the parade.” 

“Get caught in a rainstorm, then?” Dennis asks as Mac begins unlacing his wet boots. “You’re ruining the leather couch, by the way.” 

“Something like that. You feeling ok, man? Maybe you should eat that.” He nods at the fruit in Dennis’s hands. 

Dennis all but throws the peach away from himself. “I would never put such a thing in my mouth, Mac. I have no idea where it’s been, what it’s been used for. Only degenerates eat fruit that-that’s been  _ interfered _ with.” 

It’s harder not to take Dennis’s bait this time, but he shrugs again. “None of it’s been ‘interfered with’ dude. But eat something, ok? Anything.”

“Like there’s anything in this apartment you haven’t coated in some sort of substance,” Dennis replies nastily. “Like this  _ leather couch _ that you are  _ ruining _ with your disgusting wet jeans.”

Mac takes a deep centering breath and resists reminding Dennis that he bought the couch. Resists telling him it’s a good thing he didn’t go to the parade today since he has such a hard time not being homophobic. Mac’s feeling wrung-out and raw, and Dennis is having a hard June. A hard 2018. “Whatever, man. I’ve had a rough day so I’m gonna go crash.” He gets up, smirking a little at the wet butt-print he leaves behind, and shuts himself in his room.

Unfortunately Mac’s bedroom isn’t soundproofed like his roommate’s, so he can still hear Dennis cursing and possibly throwing peaches around the apartment like baseballs, but he feels strangely peaceful. Even if people like his dad and Dennis act hateful, there are other people who are kind. He experienced that today, and he thinks it’s the kindness that will stick with him longer. 

As he waits for the shower to heat up, Mac drinks a glass of water and sends off quick texts to the two people who were there for him today. 

_ Sorry for running off. U were great :) Talk tomorrow? _

And:

_ Thanks for the ride and for everything.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drinking water, showering, and going to bed early? We stan a self care LEGEND. I followed Sunny homonymic naming convention to make IRL Kylie into Sunny Kayla. She was going to be Kaileigh but I kept misspelling it! That’s because I’m a dummy like Mac McDonald. (I tried to keep him dumb, even though I’m planning to woobify the heck out of him otherwise.)
> 
> To be clear, this is a multi-chapter fic, but AO3 only seems to give me the chapter title/total # of chapters options when I add a chapter beyond the first one. Is this new? Is my computer glitchy? Am I just tired/dumb? Anything's possible. (There will be around 7 chapters, I think.)


	2. The Bench Deepens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Sunday interlude with little plot significance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that this chapter is mostly a corny dance sequence, which I half promise not to do again. I want Mac to keep expressing himself through a physical medium like this, but I also want to avoid writing another dance if possible! I know nothing about dance, however I did attend a very wacky, very low-church CoE (Anglican) church while I was in uni and the dance from this chapter is literally ripped from my memories. It's not the most absurd thing that happened there, either.

Mac doesn’t look at his phone again until he wakes up. He has a few texts from Dee. ( _ You missed a great time, boner! _ accompanied by some pictures of the Paddy’s float, which he can admit does look great and fun. Maybe they’ll do it again next year.)

Frank didn’t respond of course, but there is a reply from Kayla. _ 1) I get it 2) YOU were great and 3) Of course <3 _

Mac realizes he should get dressed if he’s going to talk to Kayla as planned. It’s almost 10:30 and church starts at 11.

He dresses quickly and heads out. Dennis’s door is firmly shut as he leaves.

He has to jog to make it in time, but he’s only a little sweaty when he arrives and begins scanning the church for the rest of the worship team. He spots them towards the front, near the altar, a sea of green shirts and dresses. 

One of their team leaders nods at Mac as he approaches, taking in his green Paddy’s Pub t-shirt, which was left over from St. Patrick’s Day a few years ago. It’s the greenest, most church-appropriate shirt he owns. “A little on the nose for today’s sermon, don’t you think?” 

Mac frowns down at his chest, but Kayla comes up from behind and saves him from having to admit he has no idea what the other man means. “Give him a break, Scott.” She takes Mac’s arm and leads him to sit in one of the pews. “My brother has no sense of irony,” she confides. The notes of the opening song begin to swell, saving Mac from having to admit he has no idea what she means either. 

He spaces out a little bit during the service even though he slept really well last night. The sermon, something about how the golden calf we all idolize today is material wealth, mostly passes over Mac’s head. 

Before he knows it, Kayla is elbowing him in the side and he’s filing out of the pews with the rest of the worship team. It still feels weird to Mac that what’s about to happen is a part of church; it’s so different than the Catholic mass he was raised with.

First, half of the team picks up empty cardboard boxes from behind the altar, while the other half, Mac included, position themselves in a line facing away from the congregation. Those with the boxes begin to leap across the stage holding them aloft, showing off the symbols that have been painted on their sides: houses, piggy banks, cars, shoes, diamonds, television sets, and all manner of consumer goods. The dancers act very happy with their possessions, and continue to dance and twirl holding the boxes.

While this is happening in the front, Mac’s group moves through through a simple routine that looks more like old fashioned calisthenics than anything else. They reach up to the sky, bring their fingers down as they crouch into a kneel, put their hands up again while wiggling their fingers, bow until they’re fully prostrate on the floor, stand, and repeat. It’s simple, but because each of the backline dancers is moving one step behind the person to their left, Mac knows it looks like a rippling wave of praise.

Then, one at a time, the dancers in the front begin to drop their boxes and fall out of step with the rhythm of the music. Without the boxes, they become unsure of their purpose, getting in each other’s way and bumping into one another. While this is happening, Mac’s group rotates so they’re facing the congregation, and they start moving through their steps in unison. 

From the wings, Kayla spins out into the chaos unfolding on the altar. She twirls effortlessly between the dancers who are stumbling around, unsure of what to do and where they belong. She approaches a woman who has dropped a box and takes her hands. They dance together for a moment, realigning the woman with the rhythm of the dance. In step once again, the woman jumps for joy and goes to the backline, joining the worship sequence. Kayla then moves on to the next dancer.

Except for Kayla’s part, their dance isn’t complicated, but as he moves through the steps things start falling in place for Mac. He’s ok at understanding words, and he gets that the pastor was telling them money isn’t as important as God, but being able to tell a story with movement makes so much more sense to him than a boring old man talking. He even gets what Scott and Kayla meant about his shirt, which has the name of a bar Mac owns on it. They both thought it was commentary on consumerism, even though really Mac is just a guy who doesn’t own a lot of green shirts. 

The music swells. All of the dancers have joined the backline, and Kayla is dancing a solo. She’s so graceful she looks like she’s flying. Her twirling takes her down the center aisle of the church, which is Mac’s cue to step forward. As the music reaches its final crescendo, Kayla runs back towards the altar and launches herself forward into Mac’s arms. He hoists her high and triumphant, the beautiful prophetess who led her flock away from wicked greed and towards the true wealth of heaven.

The congregation’s applause is nowhere near as loud as yesterday at the prison, but Mac feels it more because today he’s not hurting. 

He loves this. He loves understanding things and helping other people to understand them more better too.

Mac lowers Kayla down and they take their bows. She smiles up at him and holds onto his arm as they file back into the pews for the end of the service. She’s so sweet and tactile, and it’s not weird or confusing or uncomfortable. They’re both gay, so they can just touch for friend reasons. It’s good.

Mac loves that too. No one else touches him like that anymore. Charlie used to when they were kids. Dennis used to too, until about two years ago. No more. It’s not Charlie’s fault, but with Dennis it’s cowardice. Mac hates judging Dennis, but it’s true. Dennis still touches Mac, even after telling Mac not to touch him, but only to make Mac do things for him. He doesn’t touch him just to show he’s there, or to say good job, or to make sure Mac’s ok and calm him down. He doesn’t touch Mac for friend reasons at all. 

Kayla sticks by Mac In the social hall after the church service finishes, which is nice of her considering how obviously her brother Scott and his husband David disapproved of their friendship. Things are still a little awkward among the three men. When Mac went back to their church for the first time, a full year after the cruise ship disaster, he mostly lurked in the back and tried to avoid the couple. If Kayla hadn’t spotted him and recruited him for the worship team they probably would have mutually ignored each other until the end of time. 

“Well done up there today,” David says politely, raising his cup of coffee in a small toast. “Scott tells me the two of you are working on some new dances?”

Mac shakes his head. “Nah, man. We were doing one but it’s for something else.”

“Actually,” Kayla says with a tilt of her head, “I think our dance would work really well to illustrate a sermon on doubt, or unconditional love. That is if you’re interested in sharing it, I mean.” 

“No,” he blurts immediately. “No, I think I’m done with it now. I guess if you want to get another guy to dance it that’d be ok?”

Kayla laughs. “Mac, you know you’re the only one here I can trust to lift me  _ and  _ catch me. Mac’s a natural caretaker,” she announces to Scott as he walks up to the group, donut in hand. Scott  _ hmmms  _ noncommittally. “During our first practice together, I tripped over a stack of hymnals that  _ someone _ left lying around.” She glares at her brother. “But Mac literally did a  _ backflip _ to break my fall.”

Scott scoffs at this. “You’ve been dancing since you were two. You would have been fine.”

“I would have,” Kayla agrees, “but still.” 

Having someone else champion him — especially someone who doesn’t need any defending in turn — is so novel. Mac feels another surge of affection for her.

“Maybe we could modify it?” he offers.

“No, I get it, that was a one-time thing. I did want to ask you to work on some new choreography with me though, if you’re interested. I found this great studio space in Center City…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe Rob McElhenney really did a backflip to protect his choreographer. (The proof: https://www.vulture.com/2018/11/its-always-sunny-mac-dance-season-13-finale.html)
> 
> I set out to establish how I headcanon everyone being connected to one other, but instead I made you sit through a plotless dance sequence, and all because I decided the day after the Pride Parade would probably be a Sunday. I’m so sorry! The next chapter will be more episode-like in nature, and will also be from the perspective of a non-Mac member of the gang.


	3. Dog Ex Machina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize the tone and content of this story is swerving wildly from chapter to chapter, which means this probably would have worked better as a series. Oh well! Shooting for a little bit more of an episode vibe here! Pure sentimentality is hard to sustain for Sunny. That said, I updated the character list for this fic with great and deeply sentimental joy.

“Whoa! Whoa! What the hell, Frank?” Dennis hastily ducks behind the bar, inserting the wooden barrier between himself and the other man.

Dee swivels on her bar stool to take a look. “You know, normally I would laugh at Dennis’s irrational fear of household pets, but I gotta say it does  _ not _ look like you have a great handle on the situation there, Frank.”

Beads of sweat run down Frank’s face. His jaw clenches. With his short arms fully flexed he looks like a Victorian carnival strongman, except instead of a barbell he’s holding onto about a dozen leashes, each with a dog straining at the end of it. Most are mutts of varying shapes and sizes, but one Great Dane, its leash tied around Frank’s waist, is so large he could probably ride it like a horse.

“Where’s... Mac?” Frank bites out.

“Where’s Mac? What do you mean where’s Mac?” Dennis asks. “I haven’t seen him in days, not since you ran off with him. How the hell are we supposed to know where Mac is?” He gropes distractedly under the bar for a fresh beer.

“He was here last night, numbnuts,” Dee informs her brother. 

“Need...Mac...help…” Frank groans.

“Well you won’t be getting Mac’s help, Frank, because he’s not here.” Dee swivels back around to face the bar. “Go home and ask Charlie if he’s seen him.”

“Mac...dogs…”

Dennis bangs his freshly opened beer on the bar. “Are you saying those are Mac’s dogs? Unbelievable. He went and got himself a menagerie of dogs and didn’t even ask me first? I already don’t have a moment’s peace in my own home and…” He takes a deep breath. “No, you know what? Get those things out of here, and you’d better tell Mac to keep them out. I will skin the first dog I catch anywhere near my apartment, Frank, you make sure Mac knows that. I will  _ skin _ it.” 

“No...I…” Frank’s strength gives out all at once, and the dogs take off running in every direction. Frank flies backwards as the Great Dane darts forwards. There’s a moment of chaos where the dogs swarm further into the bar, knocking over a few stools, before ultimately taking off out the still-open door. Frank gives a muffled shout as he’s dragged face-down behind the Great Dane, which trots along at the back of the pack. 

Dee turns calmly to her brother. “Maybe Mac’s just doing a dog walking scheme.”

***

“It was gonna be a dog adoption event,” Frank laments, ice pack held to his bloody forehead. “Thought it would bring a new crowd during the daytime. You know, other than the alcoholics.”

“Well good news,” Charlie announces as he walks in, joining Frank at the bar. “Cricket hasn’t heard anything about stray dog attacks like last time, so we probably won’t get sued.”

“Why wouldn’t you just do a cat adoption event?” Dee asks, ignoring him. “Mac’s the only one who likes dogs.”

“Yeah man let me know if you want to change the scheme. I can run home and get you, like, a hundred cats right now,” Charlie offers.

“No one’s doing any kind of adoption event!” Dennis objects. “This is a bar; it’s unsanitary!” 

“This bar is very unsanitary,” Dee agrees.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t just prefer cats, man?” Charlie asks. “It’s really no probl em.”

“It’s not about cats versus dogs, it’s about having filthy animals in an establishment dedicated to the serving of drinks!”

"Hey, remember when you wanted to be a veterinarian?” Dee smiles. “That was funny.” Dennis takes a sulky sip of his beer.

“Nah, it’s gotta be dogs. I told Duncan I could get him $500 for them,” Frank says, moving the ice pack to the other, equally bloody, side of his head. “You guys gotta help me find those dogs.”

Charlie, Dee, and Dennis all object at once. “No!” “Not doing it.” “Oh absolutely not.”

“Here’s an idea,” Dennis offers. “Why don’t you just give Duncan $500 and forget about the dogs?”

Frank wishes these jerks would just shut up already; his head is killing him. “Fine, I’ll give you $500  _ not _ to forget about the dogs. Fifty bucks a pooch to help me round them up.”

Dennis throws his hands up. “That would involve touching them, and their slobber, and I refuse.”

Charlie raises his hand. “Uhhh, I’m interested.”

“Fifty bucks a dog, you say? Do they have to be the exact same dogs?” Dee asks.

Dennis’s face reddens as he begins his journey from frustrated to apoplectic. “Do you not see how ridiculous this is, Frank? You’re out $500 either way! One way doesn’t involve running all over Philadelphia chasing down mutts.”

“Hey, I don’t question your schemes,” Frank tells him, hopping down from his bar stool. When he stands, the evidence of his Great Dane misadventure is evident all down the front of his shirt and pants, which are covered in filth. “Come on Charlie, Deandra.”

Charlie and Dee look at each other and shrug before following Frank out of the bar, followed by Dennis’s shouts.

“That’s because my schemes are good! They’re good! Goddamnit!” 

***

Driving had made Frank nauseous after two minutes, probably due to his recent head-trauma, so they split up. Dee and Charlie took the Range Rover while Frank pursued the dogs on foot. This wasn’t much better for a man with a probable concussion, and he soon lost track of both time and where he was.

He’s wandering directly down the middle of a fortunately empty street when he sees a furry flash of beige disappear into an alley up ahead. 

“Hey! Get back here!” He begins to jog after the flash, chasing it into the alley. Sure enough, it’s a dirty white dog, and it appears to pause when it hears him shout. 

“Hey poochie poochie! Come ‘ere!” The dog’s ears perk up, so it’s definitely aware of Frank, and it seems intrigued enough to wait for him. He gets close, almost within snatching distance, before it runs off again. 

“Goddamnit,” he wheezes before resuming his shuffling jog.

Frank chases after the dog again and again, occasionally shouting after it or barking at it to keep its attention. He gets close three more times before the dog finally allows itself to be picked up. “Gotcha!” he pants as he staggers over. He looks at the filthy dog in his arms more closely. “Hey, you ain’t even one of mine.”

As he catches his breath, he takes in the unfamiliar street. It’s all old brick warehouses much like the neighborhood around Paddy’s, but these have been fixed up nicely. The one directly in front of him has a giant new plate-glass picture window, and the one next to that is a trendy coffee shop. The hipsters at the cafe tables lining the sidewalk watch Frank with undisguised disgust. 

Well-practiced at ignoring such judgement from the rest of the gang, Frank pointedly glances away and at the window, which looks into a nearly-empty dance studio. Three men and two women are standing in a loose circle against a far wall, talking. One of the men is shirtless, and Frank recognizes his muscular shoulders.

“But that’s one of mine,” Frank informs the dog. “Hey Mac! Mac!” He considers waving to get his attention, but he doesn’t want to put this dog down now that he’s caught it. 

Mac doesn’t look up, but an elegant, middle-aged black woman dressed in head-to-toe purple does.  _ Shooboya roll call. _ She silently extracts herself from the group and comes to the front door of the dance studio.

“Can I help you with something, sir?” she asks, arms folded in a way that shows off both her displeasure and her hands full of glittering rings. “If you’re looking for food, I suggest you try next door.”

Frank is momentarily puzzled by why this statuesque beauty thinks he’s a homeless vagrant, then he remembers that he’s completely covered in grime, and so is the dog he’s holding. 

“I know that guy in there,” he tells her. “I need his help with a dog problem.”  _ Real smooth, Frankie.  _

She raises a finely arched eyebrow. “A dog problem? You realize this is a dance studio.”

“Yeah, I can see inside. He loves to dance now, so makes sense. He’s gay,” Frank adds unnecessarily. 

Still unimpressed, she unfolds her arms and puts her hands on slim hips. “None of this helps me narrow down who you’re wishing to speak to.”

_ “ _ Mac,” he clarifies. “Big guy. I know the broad too."

“Uh huh. Wait here, do  _ not _ come inside.” She turns and sweeps back into the studio, a waft of intoxicating perfume in her wake. 

Frank watches through the window. When the beautiful woman returns to them, Mac momentarily goes white as a sheet, and the other three circle around him. Frank realizes that in addition to Mac and Kayla he also recognizes the cruise ship gays. Kayla takes Mac’s elbow while one of the cruise guys pats him awkwardly on the back. They’re speaking to him but Frank can’t hear what they’re saying.

Eventually, Mac gives a quick nod and the woman comes back outside. “Make it quick. There’s a class scheduled in half an hour.” 

Frank follows her inside, the dirty white dog still clutched to his chest. It’s been pretty docile since he finally caught it, but all that changes once Mac is in sight, his arms folded across his formidable chest and his neck held high, with Kayla and the cruise gays arrayed behind him. The dog goes absolutely wild, barking and writhing in Frank’s arms, and Mac’s defensive demeanor shifts immediately. 

“Poppins?” Mac all but squeals, dropping to his knees to catch the dog. “And Frank? Oh thank God, dude. Madame Alessandria thought you might be my dad and I almost flipped out.” Kayla gives Frank a little wave, and Scott, David, and the beautiful vision apparently named Madame Alessandria collectively exhale. 

“Yes, Mac was filling me in on his… dancing background. I apologize for the alarm, Mac.”

“Oh no, this is a great surprise. I haven’t seen this little guy in years.” Mac nuzzles the dog’s filthy fur. “How did you find him, Frank?” 

_ I was chasing strays and I picked the wrong one.  _ “I think he found me.”

“He does that,” Mac says proudly. “Hey, you guys want to meet Poppins? In dog years he’s like three times as old as Frank.” He stays seated on the floor as he holds the dog up to Kayla, who takes him with minimal cringing. Mac’s smile is bigger than Frank’s seen in weeks.

“I’m not that old,” Frank addresses himself to Madame Alessandria. “Still working, still thriving. I own a bar.”

Mac points at him. “ _ We _ own a bar.”

“We own a bar,” Frank corrects himself. “And I finance various things: brands, patents, merchandise, that kind of thing. Keeps me young.”

“Schemes, don’t forget schemes,” Mac adds, clearly not catching on to what Frank is trying to accomplish here.

“All kinds of things, really,” he shrugs with false modesty.

“So why are you here, man? I didn’t think I told you about this place yet?” Mac asks.

“I followed the dog here,” Frank admits. “I lost a bunch of strays earlier and I’m trying to round them up again.”

“Honestly, now I have even more questions,” Scott mutters to his husband, passing him the mangy dog he just accepted from Kayla.

“We were gonna have a dog adoption event at the bar.” Hearing this, Kayla, Madame Alessandria, and Mac all coo. “But the gang didn’t want to have it there, so first I’ve gotta find the dogs and then I’ve gotta find a new venue.”

Madame Alessandria looks appraisingly at Frank, filth-covered though he is. “What about the studio?” she says. “We just opened last week and it could be a good opportunity to introduce ourselves to the neighborhood.”

“That’s a great idea; get some new people in the door,” Kayla says. Mac nods in agreement.

“I don’t know,” David puts in skeptically, holding Poppins at arm’s length. “If it’s something not even Mac’s friends are interested in doing it’s probably too awful to be involved in.” 

“Oh no, it’s just that Dennis hates dogs,” Mac clarifies for them. “He’d be fine with it if it was a cat adoption event. Dennis is kind of our leader,” he explains to Madame Alessandria. 

“Speak for yourself, kid,” Frank scoffs. Kayla snorts and gives the still-seated Mac an affectionate pat on the head.

“What?”

“Nothing. If you’re serious about having the adoption event here I’ll call the rest of the gang and let them know. Then we can see about getting those dogs back.”

Poppins barks twice, leaps out of David’s arms, and makes a break for it. Mac isn’t able to jump to his feet fast enough to catch him, and he’s soon out the door.

“Bye, buddy!” Mac calls after him, unperturbed despite finding his childhood pet and losing him again in a five minute period. “He won’t be caged,” he explains to the rest of them. 

***

Charlie’s pied piper routine has attracted zero dogs, but it has netted them about $20 from passersby who think they’re busking, so Dee can’t really complain. At least not until Frank calls.

“Listen, I found a new place to have the adoption event. You having any luck with the dogs?”

“Nothing so far. We didn’t find anything by driving around, so now we’re trying to lure them to us but it’s not going well. I think those things are really gone, Frank.”

Charlie takes a deep breath, puffs his red cheeks out like a chipmunk, and blows into his panpipes with all his might.

Frank grunts dismissively. “We’ll figure it out. I got Mac with me now.”

“Oh well in that case it sounds like your problems are solved.”

“Just call me when you find something. And Deandra? The team that finds the most dogs wins.”

“Oh goddamnit!” She presses End on the call. 

Charlie finally runs out of breath and the note ends. “What did Frank want?”

“He teamed up with Mac and made it a goddamn competition. We’ve got to find those dogs, Charlie. This isn’t working.”

“I have one more idea.”

After a pit stop at Frank and Charlie’s apartment, the Range Rover is bedecked as though for a dog wedding, with dozens of steaks and chops and sausages tied to its rear bumper. 

“We’ll drive this baby around and every stray dog in Philly will follow us,” Charlie announces proudly. 

“It’s worth a shot,” Dee agrees. “What do you say we double our chances? I drive and you play your little pipe thingys out the window?”

“Let’s do this!”

***

“You’ve gotta hold the leashes once we catch em. That’s where it went wrong last time, cause I was holding all ten of them. I’d ask you to keep some of them at your place overnight too, but Dennis threatened to skin any dogs he sees, so better have them bunk with me and Charlie tonight.”

“Yeah man,” Mac agrees, slowing to keep pace with Frank as they patrol the streets of Philadelphia. “I think Dennis is like one dog away from a total breakdown.”

Frank laughs uproariously at this, but Mac just looks at him blankly. _ Oh Christ, the kid was being serious.  _

He changes the subject. “So Madame Alessandria huh? What’s her story?”

“I don’t know, I just met her today. I think she used to be a dancer? And she owns the studio so she must have been pretty good to make money at it. Even Kayla has a day job.”

“I meant like, do you think I have a shot?”

Mac seems puzzled by the question. “I guess, if she’s into dudes?”

“Well everyone else in that studio was, so I guess the odds are pretty good, huh?”

This doesn’t land either, which gives Frank a small twinge of regret. Maybe he and Mac aren’t getting each other as well as he thought.

“Well no,” Mac replies slowly, “Kayla’s not into dudes. And sure David and Scott are, but they’re married, so maybe they’d tug you off real quick to prove a point, but that’s it. And you know I think you’re disgusting.”

“You’re not so hot yourself, kid,” Frank replies reflexively. “What the hell is that?” He points into the distance, where a white blur and a yellow blur are rapidly growing more distinct. 

“Poppins!” Mac’s face lights up again. “And a golden retriever.”

“That’s one of mine!” Frank cries, recognizing one of the missing strays. “Quick, grab his collar when he gets close.”

Poppins runs circles around the golden retriever, herding it directly towards them, and Mac grabs it easily. “One down, nine to go. Good boy, Poppins!”

Poppins yips as though in acknowledgement and darts off again into the Philadelphia dusk.

“Let’s get this one back to my place while we’re close,” Frank suggests. 

They walk for a minute or two, the golden retriever panting happily beside them. Around East Passyunk Poppins catches up with them again, another two dogs in tow.

“He must be part sheepdog, man!” Mac exclaims. “Isn’t he just the best?”

“He’s really something,” Frank agrees.

By the time they make it to the apartment they have ten dogs to house for the night. 

***

Frank never updated Dee and Charlie about their good fortune, which is why the pair continue their search well into the night and end up parking under the bridge to take a quick nap around 2 am. The meats never attracted a single dog, but under the bridge they draw quite a crowd. Never men to turn down free street steaks, Duncan, Z, and their friends converge on the Range Rover with knives, scissors, and their teeth to cut away their spoils. Tonight they’ll rinse them in the Schuylkill, cook them over a roaring garbage fire, and feast like kings.

***

Someone in the gang had commandeered the Range Rover again, so Dennis ends up walking to his appointment and back. He’d take the bus, but everything about the bus—the smell, the sounds, the people pushing up against him—aggravates him, so it’s better for his nerves to take a 50 minute constitutional in either direction. 

He can almost convince himself it’s pleasant until a filthy white mutt starts yapping at his heels.

“Back, foul hound!” he yells, kicking at the dog, but the dog is relentless. It’s much too small to be a sheepdog and Dennis is much too handsome to be a sheep, but these distinctions seem to have escaped its notice.

“Release my ankle immediately!” The dog complies, but only for long enough to bite his other one. Dennis lurches forward a few steps, stumbling into the next street, and this seems to satisfy its blood lust long enough for it to unclamp its jaws and resume yapping. Never one to enjoy pain — well, at least not in  _ this _ context — Dennis continues in the same direction, which seems to please the disgusting creature. He walks a block and the dog merely trots happily beside him. 

At the next intersection, he makes to go left and suddenly the dog is on him again. Cursing and kicking, he reverses course, turning right instead. The dog seems satisfied, which is of course ridiculous. 

After a few more blocks of this, Dennis resolves to enter the first shop he sees and call an Uber. He soon comes upon a likely-looking coffee shop.

“Ha, you stupid dog!” He stoops down to the dog’s level. “You think you can outwit me? Well I don’t have to surrender to your navigational nagging. I am a man; I have  _ thumbs _ . And I’m going to use those thumbs to open this coffee shop door, and then I’m going to use them to call a car, and then I’m going to… Oh why am I even explaining myself to you?” He stands and slams into the coffee shop. 

“Sorry sir, no dogs allowed,” a barista tells him. Of course the white dog has attempted to follow him through to door.

“He’s not mine, man.”

“Sir, you were talking to him just now. And you really should have him on a leash.”

“He’s not mine! Look, I just need to make a quick call.” 

“You can do that outside. Or you could try next door; they’re having a dog adoption event.”

“Ha!” Dennis laughs, picking up the white dog by the scruff of its neck and marching back outside. “Guess where you’re going? Not home with me, that’s for sure.”

Next door, the adoption event is in full swing. Through the large picture window at the front of the store, Dennis sees a hand-painted sign of a cartoonishly muscular man hoisting a puppy above his head, reading “Dancers and Dogs.” The painstaking art style looks vaguely familiar. There do appear to be plenty of dancers, and plenty of dogs.

Just as he’s about to enter and drop off his annoying shadow, one of the dancers catches his eye. Mac’s wearing a leotard and cradling a bulldog in his arms. He looks blissfully happy. Another dancer—beautiful, slim, late-twenties; just Dennis’s type—is chatting happily with him. With  _ Mac, _ who doesn’t even like women and can hardly appreciate this lovely creature. It’s an outrage.

The white dog nips his wrist, causing him to drop it. It runs off. Dennis should be pleased not to have to deal with that problem anymore, but he can’t look away from the scene in front of him.

Mac isn’t the only familiar face in the tableau. Two of the men in attendance share a kiss, which flashes Dennis back to another time he can’t quite place. Frank is also there, hanging off the arm of a woman twice his height who inexplicably doesn’t seem disgusted with the arrangement. Everyone looks thoroughly content.

He stands there for a few more minutes, paralyzed, before finding his phone and opening the Uber app with shaky hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Frank just wanted to do a nice scheme for Mac! Originally it was going to be something where Mac’s physique was essential, but then I saw a gifset of Mac and Poppins and this plot happened instead. It was fun attempting to plot according to sitcom format! It was less fun to try and write sitcom format narratively. I miiiight try it again for the next chapter, but fair warning that I do plan to eventually devolve back into sentimental mush.   
> 2) I pictured Dominique Jackson (Elektra Abundance on Pose) as Madame Alessandria, so while it may never come up in the story (sorry to JK Rowling you this way), heck yeah Frank’s new girlfriend is trans.  
> 3) I almost had Poppins pee on Dennis in the end, but I thought maybe he was already suffering enough.


End file.
